


When It Rains In The East

by 11likeswritingfanfiction



Series: When It Rains In The East [1]
Category: John Wick (Movies)
Genre: Angst and Tragedy, Assassins & Hitmen, F/M, Feelings, Reunions
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-10
Updated: 2020-01-10
Packaged: 2021-02-19 01:15:32
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,232
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22202875
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/11likeswritingfanfiction/pseuds/11likeswritingfanfiction
Summary: An ex-hitman Ophelia Spears meets an ex-hitman John Wick who she's pseudo-friends with after ten years.
Relationships: John Wick & Original Female Character(s)
Series: When It Rains In The East [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1598218
Kudos: 5





	When It Rains In The East

**Author's Note:**

> Felt compelled to write some John Wick fics. Part of a series. FC for Ophelia is Viola Davis.

At forty-six Ophelia often checked in early, especially when it rained like it did tonight. 

Correction: she tried to. Her doctor often said a woman going through menopause like herself needed to take and get enough sleep or what hogwash that was. Anyhow, she seems to betray herself every time by staying up, keeps deep in documentaries about Wisconsin Cheese to Competitive Thumb Wrestling so it was around two in the morning when she heard banging at her door.

What did she do? _Answer it?_

Of course not, **that's a pure setup.** Preposterous.

She's just going to ignore it and watch two grown men thumb wrestle. Well, that what wanted to do before the banging seemed to intensify and the storm raged on. She cautiously glanced at the door and with a butcher knife she grabbed from the kitchen with a sprint, she answered it. And the person on the other side was one she never thought she'd see again.

John, John Wick. Her companion, one she hadn't seen in ten years. To be fair, they both had partnered up and were busy trying to be adults, trying to lead a life without contracts. She decided to marry her first love. And similarly, he was thirty-nine and madly in love with her girlfriend Helen. By the time she realized it, their surface sense of friendship and faded away. 

John Wick or _Baba Yaga_ , as those who admired and feared him called her senior. He was known as the mysterious, tactful killing machine. To be on such friendly terms with him, she couldn’t remember exactly how it really happened. And although they had been on terms close enough to warrant letters and phone calls, he still had many things she didn’t know about him.

What did she expect from an organization of contract killers? Vice versa, they were many things he didn’t know her, as well. Their pseudo-friendship meant a lot to her, surprisingly—devoid of human interaction, he’d been her close thing to a ‘buddy’ or as close as you could be if you were them.

Regardless of how much time passes, or the situation, she couldn’t help herself and quickly went in to hug him while he was still standing outside. The knife she had been holding dropped to the hardwood floors with a clank.

“Johnny.” She cries, pounding his chest with her fists. She didn’t care how little he thought of their relationship, seeing his shitty, handsome face made the lonely woman feel the happiness she hadn’t felt in years. 

“Phe.”

“You stupid oaf, how could you not call or speak for ten years! You think just because we became civilians that can’t least write!”

“Phe!” His shout stops her from what she’s doing and makes her realize something. He was plantings and soaking wet. Her tired eyes examine his body and current state and she realizes he has a gnarly slash on his side. Her dark, droopy eyes wide as she takes in his state.

He seems to be in quite a bit of pain and trying to appear cold and strong while he’s shivering. Ophelia fumbles over her words, telling him to take off his wet clothes and head to the bathroom while she searches for old clothes for him.

When he’s settled, he’s shirtless wearing a pair of grey sweatpants looking over her home—or in better terms scooping it out.

“Nice house, Phe. Different from the closet of an apartment you had.” John mutters, letting out an appreciated groan as he settled into her cow-printed couch.

"So..." Ophelia begins, not wanting to bring up the question of why he ended up at her doorstep with a stab wound. Although she had an idea, she was pretty sure Old Johnny Boy hadn’t gone back to his previous occupation. She’s just hoping he hadn’t found himself or his wife in some sort of trouble.

Too much of a headache that could definitely wait for the morning.

"How's Helen? I haven’t spoken to either of you in years and to be fir it was neglect on my part, even if I didn’t know where you were." She was pretty and nice, and perfect. The girl was some sort of fairy. With those deep-set, dark eyes and that haunting beauty, Ophelia was a bit puzzled on how he had gotten her to say yes to his proposal.

"H-” John’s voice catches in his throat.

“Helen died earlier this year." As he said that, a quiet, yet filled warm filled as the sound of rain and the kettle Ophelia set on the stove seemed to overcome them.

“I-” She felt like shit was having brought her up then.

“It’s ok, Phe. She was sick for a while so,” John says with a soft voice, sounding like he was over listening pity from others.

“We prepared ourselves, although it still hurt so much in the end. Enough about me. What have you been up to the last decade?” She chuckles.

" _Oh_ , _little ole me?_ Well, my baby has flown the coop and doesn't need Mommy anymore--I got divorced from that pig I thought I loved so Netflix is now my bread and butter." She replies, gesturing to her smart tv that was still playing.

"Documentaries? Phe, you've become an old lady." She chuckles.

"Oh? I can see those crows feet, _Grandpa_." As they laugh, Ophelia brings up the question of why he was at her home, in the early hours of the morning. She was confused as to why and was, even more, when he began yelling an outrageous story.

“They fucking killed Daisy!” John blurts out, slammed his calloused hand against her oak coffee table.

“...What?”

“Daisy...the dog Helen gave me to so I wouldn’t feel alone after she...departed. That bastard, Tarasov’s son ambushed me, killed her and took my baby, my car.” Ophelia grimaced, as he continued taking care of his wound.

“The one that when you got it you shot at me because I spilled coffee in it?” He manages to nod, wincing at she finished stitching the gash on his side. She watches as the tired, aging man stares at her.

“I take it that you want revenge.” John grits his teeth.

“Of course.”

“Consider me on board.” Before he can protest, she continues, grasping his face as if it was to say ‘Look at me’.

_“Товарищи сражаются вместе.” ‘Comrades fight together.’_

“...Again.”

“Hmmm?” Ophelia question as talks handles her kettle careful, hoping not to burn herself. 

“You’re always there for me.” She chuckles, making her way back to the living room to hand him the thermos of Green Tea before sitting beside him. 

“Well, Johnny, I consider us something like friends.” He raises an eyebrow.

“‘Something like friends’?” She tucks a loose braid behind her ear. Wearing her long, floral nightgown, she stares at with soft, tenderness as he continues.

“I’ve always considered my friend, my comrade. To me, you are more than ‘something like a friend’. I was present at your wedding. I held your hand in the place of your idiotic husband when you gave birth. I come to your home and you agree to run away with me. With everything I held dear left or have been taken away from me, you’re the last thing to keep my sanity. _Ты моя цель жить дальше_.”

‘You are my purpose to live on.’


End file.
